They put me on something called "remeron," I've been on it for a whole week now. I'm still on the vistaril and klonopin. I feel worse now than when I began the meds. I've managed to have 2 of these horrific episodes every day since Sunday.
Let me start off by saying I'm not a religious person...but yesterday, I think there must've been something watching over me. I was just about to do something incredibly stupid...I walked to the edge of a cliff, overlooking Lake Erie. The wind and the waves were big, pretty wicked looking, so I took a few pics with my cell phone and decided to count to ten in my mind. I was bawling and holding my phone when it buzzed in my hand by the time I counted to six. It was a text message from my sister, she had come home from Michigan and wanted to know if she could stop by.
I stepped back from the edge and looked up. "Message recieved," I murmured to the sky. I went home.
Today, I feel worse than I did yesterday. There's no rhyme or reason. I told my therapist and he'll tell the shrink. Is it so wrong to give up? I mean, really, what good am I to the poor schmucks that I surround myself with? I'm a drain on my family and friends. We're broke as a joke, I have to put my cat down on Friday because he's so diabetic his organs are shutting down, which is going to devastate me. Oh, and I have a house full of pets, pets no one else would want or like. My therapist told me that I "kept tarantulas and snakes as a way to keep people away." I thought I kept these things because I genuinely liked them, they were ugly like me, and I thought I was giving them a good home.
Don't mind me. I'm trying to do this venting-thing, and...it's not doing me a lick of good. I hafta go to work, designing a newspaper about "Letters to Santa" from all of the gradeschool kids here in the county.
Meh. Never mind my babbling. It's just another bad day.